


hold me without hurting me (you'll be the first who ever did)

by inflame



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Bars and Pubs, Excessive Drinking, Future Fic, Making Out, Mentioned sakuatsu, Multi, Post break-up sex, Post-Time Skip, Threesome - M/M/M, Tsukishima-centric, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, implied kurotsuki, mentioned sunakita, sad sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:42:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26746810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inflame/pseuds/inflame
Summary: Expressions of regret, sadness and abandonment epitomized by tongues and grasps will be divulged. This is a tale of three young men and their desire to erase the residuum of their past.
Relationships: Sakusa Kiyoomi/Suna Rintarou/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 12
Kudos: 37





	hold me without hurting me (you'll be the first who ever did)

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, I suddenly I thought about SunaTsukki, but then I went, "oh what about Sakusa?" And so here we are. I imagined how glorious their dynamic would be... but I wounded up with this fic sigh. Also, just a disclaimer, this is my first time writing explicit content so I'm a newbie here! (Tips and tricks will be appreciated)
> 
> Tsukishima, belated happy birthday (i'm sorry, love). 
> 
> Title came from [this song](https://youtu.be/DCYmJDO2_IE).
> 
> Thank you [Plas](https://twitter.com/tendousatoshi) for indulging this H fic with me.

**** Suffering has no measure. There are no scales to weigh it.  
There is only sorrow after sorrow.  
_-Carolina De Robertis, Cantoras_

It’s dark, cold. He’s surrounded by pitch black nothing. He opens his eyes, and closes them. He blinks. He closes his eyes once more. He hears murmurs. He opens his eyes. He is in the middle of a crossing, clutching an umbrella. The light turns green. He walks.

A rainy night in Tokyo breeds nothing but desperation. Its neon signs, wet pavements are cruel, cold, heartless. The breeze remains unforgiving, it penetrates through every single thing, living or not. It has no preference, it has no face, yet it smiles inauspiciously, clawing into hearts when the clock strikes midnight. It preserves itself, waiting for its prey as it lurks in the dark, at concealed alleyways. The night remains young. It stays hidden, lingering patiently, knowing something, someone was bound to pass by. A person with broken walls, susceptible to vulnerability, looking for meaningless touches, fatuous grips, with wishes that scream they are to be brought to senseless heights of pain and pleasure. A young man passes by. It stops moving, cautiously circling the third prey for the night. Blonde, tall, lean, much different from the first two that came together. Both with darker hair masked with ominous features. But still weak against the wrath of It. This time, the third, is perfect. His face etched with pain, his spirits dampen by history and broken vows. A ring, he sees. A ring he throws away at the nearest bin. A promise tainted? It guesses. It shrugs away and watches the man stop and look at the stand alone building with loud music and merriment. His glasses reflect the sign of the bar, his face spelled lethargy. He relaxes his tensed muscles. It was time. It swiftly comes into the light and flies through the young man. He shivers in response.

\----

Tsukishima Kei suddenly feels cold, with the need for heavy liquor intensified. He deserves this just for one final time before he boards the train back home. A taste of Shibuya is what he desires for the most. Besides, he’s had enough taste of Him that could last a lifetime. A memory etched in his mind that cannot be ever erased. The reason he was in town, the reason he came back when ties have been already cut off through a dial, a call, “let’s break up,” at the end of the other line and then the dial tone. A text comes after, about the scarf currently wrapped around Kei’s neck. He pulls it closer to his face and it still smells like its previous owner. 

He should have gone to the apartment, got the scarf and left.

The sun was still basking in its glory and now he’s under the moon’s surveillance twelve hours later. Much of the time was dedicated to a goodbye spelled with kisses, rough touches, and arched backs. In the dark, their shadows contorted, limbs wrapped around each other for the final time. They whispered their names over, and over again; poison they remained drunk on and must now never speak of again. Their tongues hover each other’s mouths, licking every trace they have made through the years. A ritual of cleansing, they have agreed upon, to remove any remnant left of the three-year spectacle. A goodbye that sends shivers and ecstasy to Kei’s body that moves along with the bed, waves sent through their hips bound together, their fingers intertwined, still. The pinnacle he was brought to thrice will not be the most memorable thing but the painful expressions they kept on making. Their faces that spoke apologies, regret, a chance a day or two late. They winced once the lights flickered on, seeing the tragedy on the bed and the tragedy of their history that spoke nothing but nights such as these, and fights that were a broken record playing, screeching against the needle, telling them that this is never going to work no matter how hard they try.

So Kei had to leave. There was no choice other than to bid adieu, to put his two feet out the door, never to enter that apartment again after their final rite.

When he closes his eyes he could still see the sinister smile that penetrated his heart and soul, the jet black hair that tangled against his fingers as His mouth entrances Kei’s whole entirety. When he touches his finger, the ghost of the ring can still be felt, a promise of forever cut short by ego. And so Kei secures a seat on the bar stool right in front of the bartender as he orders the heaviest liquor on the menu. The bartender does not bat an eye and makes the drink right away. Kei wonders how many other poor souls had entered this crowded location, sporting the same look as him; as if the heavens bestowed him a curse to punish him for his wrongdoings and that punishment is to live. The drink arrives, a maroon-colored thick liquid in a shot glass. He drinks it right away. Bitter, citrus, sour, tangy, burning, all at once. _If he was a drink it would be this,_ he thinks to himself. He orders another one, then another, then another. Numerous people come forward, sit near him, attempting to ease his pain for the night, but he declines with a wave of hand and points at the drinks in front of him. By the fourth person, he sighs and turns around with the goal to cut the chase. He was met with a blank stare coming from a man around his height wearing a black fitted polo and slacks. His first thought was, _who wears a mask in a club?_ And then a second later realization hits. He wasn’t alone. Behind him, another man smirks at the scene, wearing a fitted white tee and ankle-length jeans. 

“Tsukishima.” One mumbles against the thin fabric. “Sendai Frog’s middle blocker.”

“Sakusa-san, Suna-san,” he greets, politely bowing but he holds against the table, in caution so he doesn’t fall head first. They see him grunt as he struggles to bring his head up from the intoxication.

“Fancy seeing you here, sweetheart. I see you ordered for us?” Suna Rintarou says as he brings to his mouth one of Kei’s drinks and gulps it down, some of it running at the side of his cheek. As if it was made to be done on purpose. Kei looks as his drink spills and Suna licks the corner of his lips.

Kei rolls his eyes and sighs. It was a horrid nickname in high school when they played against each other for the final time. _Sweetheart_ was tainted by this man, to the point that Kei even asked the man to refrain from calling him as such. It was nerve wracking for Kei whenever they would go up against each other, middle blocker to middle blocker, at the opposite sides of the net. Kei calculates the probabilities of their victory and all he can see is his scheming eyes, narrowing and his smirk as he whispers that nickname, _sweetheart._ It’s disgusting. He could scream at him, tell him to never call him that. Kei has played against Kiyoomi, but there never had been any interactions past the court. So, instead of lashing, he snorts as the two uninvited guests sit at his right. They look at him, puzzled at the guise.

“You already drank _this_ much?” Sakusa Kiyoomi asks.

“Unfortunately, Sakusa-san” Kei admits.

“Let me guess, bad break-up?” Rintarou guesses. Kei freezes at the word. He contemplates walking out, but he simply rests his head on his hands supported by his elbow on the table.

“Yes,” He answers truthfully. 

“The sports promoter with the weird hair?” Kiyoomi asks Rintarou. Rintarou nods.

“Damn, he was cute.” Rintarou says. “But you’re cuter, you know?”

“Thank you for the consolation.”

“I meant it.” Rintarou replies.

Kiyoomi looks at Kei. At his blonde hair, at the scarf he was wearing. Red, like something He’d wear. “I guess,” he says as he downs the drink on the table after wiping the mouth of the glass down with a tissue. Kei watches him, his face shows no expression. The conversation turns to volleyball, a conveniently safe ground. Which team are you now in, are you playing next season, all questions were exchanged and answered but one thing remained in Kei’s mind. 

“Seriously? Nothing?” Kei asks. “I apologize for the disrespect, Sakusa-san, but I would have imagined you would have winced at those.”

Rintarou looks at Kiyoomi and smiles. _Looks like he’s looking for a distraction,_ it seemed to say. Kiyoomi returns his look.

“Drop the honorifics, at least for tonight.” Kiyoomi says as he brings his mask back to his mouth, turning towards Kei this time. “And to answer your question, I’ve had that before. Same circumstances.”

Kei looks at Kiyoomi, wide-eyed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine. It’s been a while.” But still, there seemed to have residual melancholy behind those seemingly expressionless eyes. For a split second, it changed from expressionless to pain-filled jet black.

“Man, it _has_ been a while,” Rintarou interjects, as he rests his back on the counter and watches the crowd wreck havoc as the next song comes on. “But you know right? Exactly how long it has been?”

“Two years, three months, and four days ago.” The other replies, as he downs another drink. Rintarou laughs.

“Man, you do remember!” He says in between breaths. “Is that how long since we’ve started as well?”

Kei chokes on his drink.

“It’s difficult not to remember when it happened on your birthday. It’s fine,” Kiyoomi says, as if it wasn’t addressed to the other two but to assure himself. He continues. “And to answer your question, yes, most likely.” 

Rintarou looks back at Kei, still puzzled at how they came together considering they share absolutely no commonality.

“Oh I’m sorry, we’re not together. We just have an ongoing pact.” Rintarou explains. “When Kiyoomi broke up with his then boyfriend, we coincidentally met at a bar. I had broken up with Kita-senpai, a few days ago before our meeting.” 

“It was a painful break-up.” Rintarou says, as he leans against the counter. “Kita-san seemed eager to get rid of me, of us. I knew it was bound to happen but I just wished I hadn’t prolonged it any further. I had to say I was busy, even if I wasn’t so he couldn’t break my heart then. Who knew I’d still be in pain after two years? It’s ridiculous.” He tells the two. Kei watches him as his eyes stare at the floor, avoiding contact.

“I see,” Kei replies. “I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s fine. I’m used to it. That’s why this is a match made in heaven, right Omi-kun?” It seems as if Kiyoomi winced at the nickname. He glares at the fox. 

“Honestly, we won’t mind a third.” Rintarou suddenly says, after drinking another shot.

“Excuse me?”

Rintarou moves closer to Kei, he leans in to the point that Kei could see the flame in his eyes. “You heard me. We don’t mind you joining us, at least for tonight.”

“I don’t indulge in such, I apologize.”

“We offer more than _that_.” Kei does not understand.

Rintarou sees the confusion and moves away, but his stare still remains on Kei. “I get it, no worries.”

However, just as he puts the shot glass near his lips, he whispers against the glass, “I can smell him on you, Tsukishima-kun.”

Kei’s body shivers. His fingers begin to tremble.

“How did you-”

“You could smell him from a mile away, with that perfume of his.” Kiyoomi says. “No offense.”

“N-none taken, I guess?” Kei stammers. “But, I don’t-, I don’t, I-I would just like to go home, after this.”

“In that state?” Rintarou asks. Kei nods.

“Are you drunk?” Kiyoomi asks.

“No.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“At Bar Greyhound in Shibuya.”

“Do you remember where the station is?”

Kei points to the left. Rintarou laughs.

“Wrong.” Rintarou stands up from his seat and comes closer to Kei. He cages him with his arms, putting his hands against the bar table Kei is leaning on. “You lose, Tsukishima.”

“I didn’t know we were playing a game.” Kei snickers, surrendering to the two ominous auras that surround him.

Rintarou puts his face closer and whispers. “You’re playing it so well, though.”

Suddenly, the club turns pitch black. Flashes of green, red and blue lights come out of the corners of the room, as it scans the crowd, and the crowd howls as the music begins to pick up the pace. Kei, with his eyes not adjusting yet to the scene, struggles to stand up, until two large hands pull him back to his seat and his mouth is met with another. _It tastes bitter,_ he decides. _But it will do._ The lips feel soft against his own as hands roam around his body. Their lips glide, wet and thirsty for action. Kei pulls Rintarou closer with his arms locking at his sides. Their lips move around, eager to explore each others’ crevices, angles, until a tongue meets Kei’s lips and he opens eagerly. As the kiss began to deepen and harden, their tongues danced. Hands continuously roam as the beat of the club continues to unfold the mood. Rintarou slides his legs against his crotch. Kei moans against the man’s lips and he feels the mouth curl into a smile. They continue their explorations, their hands running at each other’s sides, backs, necks.

When Kei breaks away, he feels a hand turn his head sideward and meets another set of lips, this time, hungrier, more desperate than the first. He feels larger hands pull him closer. Their lips fit snugly, finding comfort in the space each provides. The man breaks away from the kiss but still holds Kei at his sides. He pulls away the scarf around Kei’s neck and plants his mouth at Kei’s bare clavicle. His tongue moves in circles, as Kei moans against the man, grabbing a handful of black locks. It registers then, who it was, but he decides to let it continue. He deserves this, reward, punishment, blessing, curse. Kiyoomi sucks on his neck and Kei gasps loudly, never having felt this much pain and pleasure all at once. He does not mind being ravaged for the second and third time. Kei whimpers and he is met with lips again, as if to silence him. His hand roams around a wide back as their tongues meet in the middle of it all, at the apocalypse that is brewing in this very pub. Then, the kiss broke just as the heat started to increase. The lights turn on and Kei is met with jet black, his fingers tangled in all of it. Kei sports his own kind of mess, his golden hair, shining against the light, his temples glistening with sweat. They both pant. Rintarou watches the whole unexpected narrative unfold.

“Well,” He starts. “What do you think, Omi-kun? Think he passed?”

Kiyoomi scans the art he made on Kei’s neck. “Not bad.”

Kei still has trouble catching his breath but manages. “What?”

“You’re good. I could get used to your tongue.” Rintarou says. 

“I,” Kei replies. “I guess.”

“Well, how was it for you?”

“That was amazing.” Kei responds not a minute later.

“So, will you still board that midnight train?” Rintarou smirks at Kei.

“Actually,” Kei returns his smile. “I don’t mind staying until dawn.”

“You hear that, Omi-kun?” Rintarou says as Kiyoomi, unbeknownst to Kei, has already paid for the drinks they’ve consumed.

“Loud and clear,” He replies, his mask back at its rightful place. His eyes spoke of desire, something that told Kei that he wants more than just a kiss.

Three bodies with one goal join as the sun remains hidden. It rejoices in the dark, relishing at the perfect marriage of sin it has found. It has found yet again, weak souls to prey on, hearts beaten and dismantled into small pieces, inevitably harder to piece back together. Bodies continue to writhe, carnal dreams painted on their faces and bare chests as one lays against the mattress enjoined at another’s hips. It is Kei’s turn after he pleasures Rintarou with his mouth. Kei feels large palms against his chest and an order.

“Bend for me, sweetheart.” 

He obeys as he turns around and he is pushed against the bed. He awaits his punishment. After the continuous probing of three fingers, he could feel Rintarou’s manhood against his pucker. Thrusts are beginning to deepen, harden, with a threat awaiting at the end of climax. A simple phrase, a cruel tone. 

“Not yet. If you wait, I’ll even let you scream his name.”

The motions begin to fasten as Kei’s palms struggle to find a pillow, a cloth to get a hold on. With his sight hindered by black and red, he is left with heightened sense of touch. He makes a noise against the sheets. Kiyoomi, with his hands on Kei’s member, continues to fasten the pace but slows down as he feels the heat rise from Kei’s body. Perspiration builds up, tears begin to seep through the blindfold, as Kei implores the two.

_Please,_ his mouth seems to say. _Let me_. 

Rintarou snickers. _Not yet._

Rintarou reaches down and grabs a hold of Kei’s neck, pulling it upwards, the pace unchanging. Kiyoomi moves closer, turns Kei’s head to the side and kisses him, his lips wet with saliva. Their tongues meet, hungry for more, always looking to fulfill dreams and wishes but find nothing. Kei groans against his mouth. He feels like he is going to reach the pinnacle of pandemonium, his body reacting to every touch, every hold, every grasp they were making but still not being allowed to reach climax. Frustration builds up as he begs them both. 

"Please, please, I’m almost. I’m almost, ah. Please!"

They oblige as Kiyoomi and Rintarou fasten the pace, Kei’s moans can be heard from miles away. He says again. The forbidden name, the poison against his tongue is released over and over again.

"Ah, ah! Tetsurou," Kei calls out. 

"Tetsurou! A-ah!"

He jerks away from the union, panting, shaking. The rhythm continues. Kei on Kiyoomi, Kiyoomi on Rintarou. All the while they murmur names that belong to individuals outside the four walls. Their own names seem irrelevant to the names they make against each other. They made a pact to release everything tonight. To release the anguish they have felt over time. If it does not end by tonight, it will subsist.

"Tetsurou. Tetsurou. Tetsurou!"

"Don’t stop. Hah, Shinsuke. Ah, A-ah right there! Sh-shinsuke, please."

"Atsumu, I’m going to, ah. Faster, faster! God, a-ah."

The night never ends, the day never seems to come. The place reeks of their scents combining as they explore each other’s wishes even more. Insatiable longing continues on and on. The blindfold loosens at his eyes from the motion and now rests at his neck. Kiyoomi pulls onto the blindfold, as Kei swallows Kiyoomi’s totality. He can feel him throb, he sees him close his eyes, his fingers curling at the blonde locks Kei sported. He continues on. Rintarou remains at Kiyoomi’s lips, their lips sliding from the lack of friction. Their bodies are bruised, tainted, stained with kisses that resemble that of galaxies. Kiyoomi has painted it onto them, a trademark that only belongs to him. When they arch their backs, they form a constellation of limbs, glistening against the moonlight. 

They join hands, fingers finding peace and comfort as they pant, catching their breaths. Kei does not recall when and where they began and ended. Him against the wall, pinned by Kiyoomi. 

"Go ahead, scream his name. He won’t hear you anyway." He whispers against his ear.

Rintarou bent down, taking in Kei completely.

"I'm almost there, Shinsuke. A-ah. I’m going to, a-ah!"

Kiyoomi’s groans, exposing his bare neck, his neck that has only one mark, that which Rintarou dared to do. Kiyoomi hisses at him and grabs his neck and smashes their lips together. He bites Rintarou’s bottom lip and pulls hard, until it reddens.

"You owe me one, Rintarou."

A punishment it seemed, but it gave ecstasy seen in the eyes of Rintarou. He gets on his knees.

"Punish me more."

Kei remembers his leg hiked up as his knee rested against the coffee table. He remembers warm breaths, as their lips ghost his limbs. He remembers voices filled with sweet agony. He remembers his sore back. He remembers. He remembers Tetsurou. He remembers his tears flowing, calling his name again and again. He remembers their time together, their simple language that seems foreign to him now, he remembers them all. He remembers asking Kiyoomi. He remembers pleading with Rintarou. 

_Let me forget him, please. Let me call out your name, instead._

Bruised with the past, the present, and an unknown future, they let him. They hold him in their arms. They promise him that its more than a one night stand. They tell him sweet words, things he longed to hear. They swear they would protect him, treat him better. This is a vow. Kei cries all the same in the arms of strangers, acquaintances, that are similar to him; Left broken by the promise of love. Left as an empty vessel of their past, and now couldn’t move forward without bringing the thoughts with them. They spend their night, clinging onto each other, their only solace, grasping the belief that they can and will forget. They can and will love again. Kei dreams that they do. Kei dreams that these are more than bodies offered to demons of carnal relations. These are more than what they came for. This is companionship in its rawest form, at the edge of the spectrum built for solitariness and how to subsist such circumstances. They shiver at the thought of isolation and so they grasp a little longer, grabs a hold of one another a little harder, nails savaging a little deeper against their skin. 

They lay in each other’s arms content with their worlds orbiting one another. They are comets, doomed to glance around each other, caught in a melancholic tango between their own gravity and something more immense, beyond their comprehension. Meteors bound to crash into each other, carrying the same speed as one another meeting the center of the universe, and bursting into different shapes and sizes, as they were made to be. This is not love, they realize. But, they find consolation in the fact that it isn’t. 

Tears flow through the night as the moon bids goodbye, and the sun begins to rise. They drift in a land where they fulfill their fantasies in the arms of one another. A calming reassurance after all the chaos, after all the affliction brought about by decisions that were not meant to be made in the first place. 

The three lost souls found at the brink of madness, then cling onto the promise of tomorrow. Tomorrow has to be better, they say. At least they could think. At least they could imagine. 

\----

It has no preference, it has no face, yet it smiles inauspiciously, clawing into hearts, into souls until the sun rises. Its responsibility has finished as he watches bodies continue to move, thinking about three other people, unknowingly creating the mess that had unraveled. The day is about to begin, and at night it will lurk again in the shadows, in the streets, in buildings, hidden in plain sight. Walls continue to break and form, promising a future of cold stone hearts impenetrable by vulnerability. But they will fail. It knows it very well. It bares its fangs, yawning under the sun. It stretches itself, preparing for another night, another quest. It sits on the railings of the balcony, its back turned against the darkness that reigns the apartment. They remain silent, sleeping softly. It looks back to see stains, traces of tears. It laughs. It laughs at the three, at the feeling. It bows down to no one, it receives command from no one but itself. Loneliness creeps in when love has left a person hollow. It is greedy, it never shares. It remains to seek out the weakest ones. It will return, one day, one night, unexpectedly. And when it does, the cycle continues. The touches, the grasps, the noise. All of it will continue for as long as it wants.

It’s dark, cold. Nothing can be seen. He opens his eyes, and closes them. He blinks at the shadow that seems to form on the balcony. He turns his vision towards the limbs wrapped around him. There is a head leaning on his side, there is a hand on his chest. He turns his head towards the balcony. There it is again. He closes his eyes. He opens it once more. The shadow is gone. A figment of his imagination. He drifts away and closes his eyes, grasping another body nearby.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, If you're reading this, I'm glad you made it through. I hope you're still alright. I swear, my hands just slipped and it became that ending. I'm sorry, but I do hope you found the story worthwhile. 
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/inflamist)


End file.
